


look at the mess we've made

by sameolsituation



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: And he likes it a lot, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Piss kink, Polyamory, Watersports, Wetting, poly!Queen, roger gets pissed on, some aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameolsituation/pseuds/sameolsituation
Summary: ”You’re a mess,” John adds, his eyes sweeping over Roger’s trembling frame. Roger tries to draw his legs up, as if that will shield him from John’s gaze, but John lightly swats his knee in response and Roger goes limp.--The boys make a mess, and then they clean it up.





	look at the mess we've made

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow is my birthday so I decided I had to close out my teen years with a bang and traumatize the entire fandom.  
> Written for my enabler because I forced them into piss kink hell with me.  
> If you're also stuck in piss kink hell, enjoy!

“Look at you.”

The sheer amount of disapproval in John’s tone makes a shameful heat creep up Roger’s skin, tinting his cheeks an even darker pink as he squirms under the weight of John’s gaze. There’s nowhere he can go to escape it; his wrists are wrapped in the fabric of a couple of old ties, bound in careful knots to the bedposts. No matter how much he struggles or pulls, the knots hold steady, leaving him splayed out on the bed and helpless to whatever John and Brian and Freddie want to do to him.

”You’re a mess,” John adds, his eyes sweeping over Roger’s trembling frame. Roger tries to draw his legs up, as if that will shield him from John’s gaze, but John lightly swats his knee in response and Roger goes limp.

He can only lie there and let his lovers have their fill, standing over his prone body with hunger still lingering in their eyes, even though they’ve all already fucked him senseless a time or two tonight, leaving their cum on his skin like he needs a reminder of their possession, even though he’d never be anything else but theirs. He’s still panting from his own orgasm only minutes before, his cum starting to cling almost uncomfortably to the skin stretched taut over his ribs and his stomach.

He’s filthy, that much he knows; his chest and stomach and upper thighs are a canvas painted white, mixed with sweat and the purpling marks of his lovers’ overzealous hunger. He can feel a few sticky drops at the base of his neck too, but he’s not sure if they’re his own, or if they’re the result of Freddie straddling his upper chest and fucking his throat raw.

Roger wishes he could run his fingers through the mess on his skin and get a taste for himself, but as he tugs on his binds again, he’s reminded just how far that’s out of his control. He’s stuck for the time being, forced to simply wait and see what comes next.

“We should get you cleaned up,” John says, stepping up to the bottom edge of the bed. There’s something in his tone that makes Roger’s spent cock twitch, the heat in his face spreading down his chest and across his body. He strains to lift his head up and watch what John’s doing, but he only gets a brief glimpse of John’s naked body standing at the end of the bed, his cock half-hard in his hand, before Roger’s neck protests the angle and he drops his head back down to the mattress with a groan.

He feels it before he sees it; a rush of heat on his skin he mistakes for his blood heating back up with frustrated arousal. But soon he realizes there’s an accompanying wetness, and he jerks his head back up to find that John’s fucking _pissing_ on him, the piss splashing over his stomach and streaming in rivulets down his sides, cutting rivers through the drying cum on his skin and pooling under him, soaking into the mattress beneath him.

He gets so hard so fast he’s dizzy with it, unable to form words as he whines with need and tugs unsuccessfully at his binds, something like a sob tearing itself from his throat as John directs his stream lower and soaks Roger’s cock with it, and it’s so filthy but feels so fucking good, intense pleasure racing up his spine so quickly that it feels like Roger’s already on the verge of coming again.

He’d mentioned before in passing that he thought he sort of had a thing for being pissed on, but he hadn’t actually _tried_ it and John didn’t even discuss it with him, just went and fucking pissed on him in the name of “cleaning him up” and somehow that makes it even hotter and Roger thinks he might actually die.

He drops his head back down to the mattress and shuts his eyes, trying to calm himself down so he doesn’t end up coming all over himself again like an overexcited teenager, but he hears movement and then a few seconds later there’s another burst of warmth on his skin, square in the middle of his chest, and he opens his eyes to find _Brian_ standing on his left, casually pissing on his chest as John’s stream slows and tapers off.

They must have discussed this without him, but Roger can’t find it in himself to be bothered by his exclusion. He loves it; loves the way it marks him as theirs in an almost indelible way, loves how filthy hot it feels on his skin, loves the humiliation that burns in his veins as they use him for something so primal.

He turns his head to find Freddie standing on his right side, smiling softly at Roger with his cock in hand. Roger’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming, but still his body thrums with such overwhelming arousal at the thought that his vision blurs for a moment.

“Close your eyes, darling,” Freddie instructs. Roger’s body instinctively obeys Freddie before his brain even gets the chance to catch up, as if his place beneath Freddie is hardwired into his nervous system.

A few seconds later, there’s a splash of wet heat over his Adam’s apple, and Roger moans helplessly as Freddie’s piss streams down his neck and collects in the hollow of his collarbone. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to feel it move higher, dripping off his chin, and, _fuck,_ pouring into his half-open mouth, the bitter salt of it heavy on his tongue. He swallows obediently, and Freddie moves higher, and it takes everything in Roger not to gasp as he feels it trickle over his forehead, running down his temples and soaking into his hair, a few drops trailing over his closed eyelids and his reddened cheeks.

Freddie empties the last of his piss into Roger’s mouth, letting his half-hard cock rest on Roger’s tongue as his stream slows to a trickle and gradually dies out. Brian’s long finished, and Roger’s absolutely soaked in their combined piss, and he can’t remember ever being this turned on before.

“What a slut you are,” John says, that earlier disapproval still thick in his tone. “Our little piss slut, hmm?”

He doesn’t know how, but somehow that pushes Roger over the edge, and he moans long and loud as he comes without anyone laying a hand on him, adding to the mess on his stomach.

Roger goes entirely limp, all the energy drained out of him, and there’s more warmth on his skin, and he doesn’t realize what’s happening until he hears Brian’s awed murmur and cracks his eyes open to find that this new warmth on his skin is his _own_ piss.

He’s pissing himself, stream flowing hotly over his skin, pooling in his bellybutton and trickling down his side in miniature streams, and he clenches his muscles to try and stop it but he’s much too far gone to do anything. Freddie’s whispering soft encouragement in his ear and so he gives in and lets it go, lets his piss mix with theirs and add to the mess of piss and cum and filth on his skin.

He’s exhausted when his stream slows and comes to a stop, and he’s only dimly aware of his lovers untying his wrists and kissing them softly, only semi-conscious as they pull him off the bed and tug him into the bathtub, and he falls asleep against Brian’s chest as they wash his hair and body and truly clean him of all the filth he’d accumulated on his skin.

He wakes up briefly when they tug him out of the bathtub and get him dressed for bed, but as soon as he sprawls out on the freshly laundered sheets, he can barely mumble a soft ‘love you’ to his boys curled up around him before he’s out again, feeling safe and secure and truly loved.


End file.
